


i am not fireproof, i feel it burning me

by emwrite



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Drabble, Hanahaki Disease, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Love, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Sad, Unrequited Love, check end notes for warnings bc i don’t want to give spoilers ;), seriously just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:28:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwrite/pseuds/emwrite
Summary: He wonders if anyone will ever notice the blood-stained tissues that are piling up at his bedside. He hopes not. There’s one sitting in his jacket pocket right now, and it feels disgustingly wet to touch. He wants to pull away, but he’s scared his fingers will come away red.Sometimes he feels like another cough forces it’s way out his throat, he’ll die. That his throat will just give up trying to choke down the almost fully formed petals.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 163





	i am not fireproof, i feel it burning me

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y’all enjoy but you probably won’t this is aNgSTy as fuck😗✌️
> 
> LISTEN TO THE BEACH BY THE NEIGHBOURHOOD PLS IT FIts the mood so well
> 
> also i don’t want to spoil this little drabble so warnings are at the end if u need them!

The cough is insatiable. In the beginning it gently scratches at his throat, a small tickle at first- and turns raw, burning hot with the pain.

Sometimes he feels like another cough forces it’s way out his throat, he’ll die. That his throat will just give up trying to choke down the almost fully formed petals. 

His throat burns constantly after weeks of body wrenching coughs.

And then the flowers come out.

Lance never knew what unbearable meant until then.

* * *

He wonders if anyone will ever notice the blood-stained tissues that are piling up at his bedside. He hopes not. There’s one sitting in his jacket pocket right now, and it feels disgustingly wet to touch. He wants to pull away, but he’s scared his fingers will come away red.

The blood comes in thick clots now, a mixture of his insides, hatred, love and those _godforsaken_ flowers.

* * *

Keith shouts at him for almost getting Shiro killed- _“How could you be so stupid?”_ \- and the tissues grow darker. The self-hatred burrows deep into his skin. His pores feel full with it- the guilt, the anger at himself for _not being good enough_. Even the heart-wrenching adoration that simmers below feels like it’s piled on his skin, there for anyone to see.

It’s a mystery that no one has.

That Keith hasn’t- he’s caught Lance gazing at him enough times to put the pieces of the puzzle together. But he says nothing, just turns away with a slight frown. Clearly he’s either trying not to put the pieces together, or he already has and doesn’t want it acknowledged.

Lance can understand that it probably makes him feel uncomfortable, so he says nothing. Having a teammate in unrequited-love with you is a pretty irritating thing to deal with, Lance can assume. It’s probably especially uncomfortable for Keith, who’s pretty much the anti-thesis of Lance, who would thrive under this sort of devotion.

It’s a testament to how far gone his is that this simple thought both warms his heart and sets fire to his throat.

He coughs. A mattered collection of red rose petals fall into his hand. It’s a gruesome sight- the crushed petals that are almost black (they might not be red, it might just be the blood) mixed with saliva and bile and an alarming amount of blood. He wonders how much blood he’s losing now-days.

Probably a lot.

The wall is an invite for stability and he grabs hold of it with his hand to steady himself. Blood smears over the wall and some of the petals rip as parts stick and some don’t. Some fall to the floor as Lance does. He slumps against the wall, breathing rapidly. Nothing comes past his throat gently now- not even air. He’s always choking, whether it’s petals or blood or his own self-hatred, he’s always choking. He can hardly breathe now.

It’s a pitiful thought that he wishes for Keith now of all times. He wants to lean against a warm body in his final moments.

He can’t bear it alone. He never has been able to- not when he comes from a family like his, when you’re never alone no matter the time of day. No matter the situation you’re in.

His stomach swoops at the expansive sight rolling out before his eyes. It’s stars, as far as he can see, and nothing more. Just darkness and stars. There would have been a time that he’d wished for nothing more than to be a pilot surrounded by the stars- it was his dream, after all- but not today.

Not when he’s dying.

Another cough rips it’s way through his throat, tearing at the skin there. By the amount of blood that comes out this time, he knows the flowers have started growing thorns.

* * *

Two more hours pass, and the blood on his chin has almost completely dried. It’s beginning to create a long line of crust from his mouth to the bottom of his shirt but he can’t bring himself to wipe it away. Just like two hours ago, he hasn’t even got the energy to move his hand anymore.

He knows there’s not much point anyways, his thorough research of the disease has made sure of that. After the thorns come there’s no saving him.

Not that there’d been a chance in hell of that anyways. Keith would have to love him for that.

God, he never thought he’d die like this.

The ship is floating softly through space, and all Lance can do is watch.

He wants Keith now more than ever. Just to watch his face in these final moment might give Lance some sort of peace, but no.

No one’s here.

He’s going to die alone.

He can’t die alone.

_I’m scared. Mami. Please, god. Don’t let me die alone. Keith... please. Anyone. Please. Anyone, anyone, anyone-_

He watches the stars.

* * *

Blood is the first thing he sees. The floor is covered in it- and the wall. The finger prints that drag the red along the wall makes his breath catch in his throat.

His knees give out. Someone runs into his back and almost falls on top of him but he’s too busy grasping at floor, ignoring the way his hands grow sticky with the blood that pools there.

It almost doesn’t seem real until he touches the cold skin with shaking hands, but when he does it hits him all at once- as suddenly agonising as a thousand white-hot knives.

Frantically he grasps at the body, heaving it onto his lap, using his blood soaked hands to clutch at his skin, as if it will transfer some of it back in.

He’s crying desperately in massive, shouting sobs- he can’t help it- this can’t be happening- 

“No.” It’s the first word he mutters, and suddenly his ears are opened to the world around him. It’s as if for a moment he’d gone deaf in his anguished desperation- but now the floodgates are open and all hear can hear is panicked voices screaming and crying. “No, no, no, no, no, no-“

He cuts himself off, to grab Lance’s cold cheek, cradling him in his arms. He pulls him close and furiously bangs their foreheads together. “Come back to me. _Please_.” He whispers. “Please don’t go.”

The tears are rolling freely now.

A hand touches his shoulder, light as a feather but still heavy enough to ground him back to reality.

Lance isn’t breathing.

“No!” He lets out a hoarse shout. “Please no. Please, _Lance_ , please wake up.” He shakes the body, fingers griping the body so hard it should bruise- _should be._ It won’t be doing much of anything now. ”Lance, I’m begging you-” Another sob gets caught, feeling as thick as vomit. “ _Please_.”

”Please, Lance.” It’s only a whisper, but it cuts more than any scream. He’s giving up- Lance deserves better than for them to give up, he can’t stop now. He won’t stop. He won’t quit until Lance’s eyes open. 

“Lance!”

His throat feels raw.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: death, major character death, graphic descriptions of blood/violence/pain/death
> 
> me: wants to bitch about my cough bc i’m sick
> 
> me: ends up crying at 1 a.m over my own fic after i made it sad
> 
> me: 😧


End file.
